PART 3
That night, Susan called me.
Patricia had apparently told her that Mark was moving because of the inheritance.
Susan surprised me immediately.
“Claire, I didn’t know about the will.”
Neither had Rebecca.
Susan told me she had specifically said the previous year that whatever remained should eventually be divided among all three children.
Rebecca felt terrible about being included while Mark was excluded.
Then Susan told me something else.
The previous spring, she had suggested their parents tour a few independent-living communities simply to understand their options for the future.
Patricia had laughed.
“We won’t need anything like that,” she had told Susan. “Mark is right here.”
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Patricia hadn’t excluded Mark because she saw no role for him in their future.
She had built their future around him.
Susan and Rebecca didn’t heroically rush into Ohio and replace him.
Real life isn’t that tidy.
Instead, they began paying attention.
They asked for their parents’ appointment calendar.
They learned the doctors’ names.
Both offered to spend more time in Ohio after we left.
Patricia hated it.
“I don’t need my daughters rearranging their lives,” she told Mark.
He looked at me when she said it.
Apparently, rearranging your life became unreasonable once one of the daughters had to do it.
Our final weeks vanished into boxes, paperwork, farewell dinners, and the discovery that Mark and I somehow owned four slow cookers.
“Four,” I said, staring at them. “There are two people in this house.”
“One was your mother’s.”
“My mother died seven years ago.”
Mark considered that. “Then I definitely don’t think she needs it back.”
We donated three.
The rest wasn’t as funny.
I cried when I left my coworkers.
Our neighbors brought wine and blueberry pie.
The night before closing, I stood in our empty bedroom, looked at the maple tree we had planted after my mother died, and wondered whether we were making a terrible mistake.
I was forty-six.
I knew which floorboard creaked.
I had a dentist.
People talk about starting over as though inspirational music begins playing in the background.
Mostly, it involves packing tape.
Colorado didn’t immediately feel like freedom.
Our rental was smaller because we refused to buy before learning the area.
The moving truck arrived two days late.
During my first week, I got lost twice inside the Aurora hospital complex.
One evening, Mark was away for work, and I ate grocery-store rotisserie chicken straight from the plastic container while sitting between unopened boxes.
I called him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Want me to come home?”
That helped more than any speech about fresh starts could have.
“No. Finish what you went there to do.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. But if you ever suggest moving again, I’m changing the locks.”
“Fair.”
Back in Ohio, Mark’s absence revealed itself one inconvenience at a time.
Richard’s Buick needed service.
Patricia needed transportation after dental work.
Passwords had to be located.
Prescriptions needed tracking.
Susan eventually flew in and called Mark in disbelief.
“Your father has seventy-seven passwords written on seventeen different pieces of paper.”
“Eighteen,” Mark said immediately.
Silence.
“What?”
“Check under the router.”
Another silence.
“I hate that you knew that.”
Mark laughed.
Then Susan grew serious.
“How long have you been doing all this?”
“A while.”
That had been his answer for twelve years.
A while.
Five weeks after our move, Patricia called him.
Her voice sounded softer than it had in months.
“I don’t like how we left things.”
“Neither do I.”
“I don’t want us fighting over money.”
“We aren’t.”
“I miss you.”
That got to him.
“I miss you too, Mom.”
For about ninety seconds, I thought we were witnessing the beginning of something better.
Then Patricia said, “Your father’s procedure is November twelfth. If you flew in on the tenth, you could stay through the weekend.”
Mark closed his eyes.
“Did you ask Susan?”
“She has work.”
“So do I.”
“Rebecca has the children.”
“They’re teenagers.”
“Well, your father is more comfortable with you.”
There it was again.
“Mom, I can help coordinate it,” Mark said. “But I’m not flying back every time there’s an appointment.”
Her voice hardened.
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
“You have the list.”
“That list?”
“Yes. That list.”
“We shouldn’t have to hire people when we have children.”
Mark went silent.
Then Patricia finally asked the question beneath everything else.
“Who’s going to take care of us?”
He looked tired rather than angry.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Mom.”
She said nothing.
Then he added softly, “You always said I could.”
After the call, he stared at his phone.
“That sounded better in my head.”
“Do you regret saying it?”
He rubbed his face.
“I regret that it was true.”
